


Coming Home

by TerresDeBrume



Series: Get Back Up [14]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Home, Homecoming, M/M, Moving In Together, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It’s good to be home.<br/>You’ve been back for nearly nine days, now.</i></p><p>Charles smiles but doesn’t answer, draping an arm around Erik’s waist as his breathing evens out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place the summer after _The Measure of Trust_ , which makes it a little less than a year after _Today We Tell The World_ and the last part of _Burn The Book To Turn The Page_. Also, if you’ve read _Five Pictures Plus One Make A Life_ , this happens a few days before Picture Number Five is taken.

The sun is high and the grass is soft today, grateful for the rain from Ororo’s last nightmare, even though one of the pine trees will never be the same again. On the whole though, the six yards radius of green grass around the house look in excellent shape, strikingly refreshing compared to the rest of the yellow, summer-burned lawn.

The building of the school –officially, an inn- have finally begun, but it’s a Sunday and the workers aren’t there to disturb the afternoon, and the only foreign sound is that of the rehearsals for the 4th of July parade.

 

Erik makes his way up the graveled driveway with a smile on his lips and a shameless lightness in his pace, Chinese takeout in hand –Charles is very fond of Chinese food, despite his uselessness with chopsticks, but Erik suspects him of cultivating said uselessness because it often generates teasing, which in turn generates awesome making-out, which often degenerates into awesome sex, which Erik really, really likes.

Charles came back from Egypt about a week ago, with what Erik guesses must be tons and tons of photos and videos featuring Ororo, Muhammad and about every savannah beast he could find –not a lot of people though, the guys from the village aren’t very happy with Muhammad for sending his rain-creating granddaughter away… as too many humans, they never saw the girl, only the mutation and what it does. Erik supposes they should be happy they saw Ororo’s particular brand of different as something worth worshipping rather than a flaw, but still.

He knows no one, before Charles, ever thought Ororo should be filmed, photographed, hugged, not even her own Grandfather, who loves her dearly but doesn’t know what to do with a child, has never known –men in the savannah just don’t care for small children, especially when they’re not sons.  He also knows he’ll make sure that Ororo knows just how lucky she is that Charles stumbled upon her grandfather’s mind and took her with him, lucky that someone was there to put her weeks-old face on video, on paper, lucky that someone’s going to be there to frighten her future boyfriends to death, lucky that she’ll have reasons to complain about someone for not letting her go out as she pleases.

Erik can do that now; admit to himself he wishes he’d had someone to forbid him from doing things. Forbidding, he’s come to learn, sometimes means Loving.

 

After all, isn’t Charles the only one who never waited for Erik’s own permission to forbid him things?

 

 

Charles, dear Charles, opens the door with a bright smile and an armful of Ororo, hair in uncharacteristic disarray –but it’s mussed more often now, because Erik likes to run a hand through it and remind Charles that life is never a straight path… he wouldn’t be the man he is today if it were. Ororo beams at Erik when she sees him, and he answers almost in kind –almost, he can’t quite give her the same intensity he gives Charles… he suspect he never will be able to- before he kisses her father, slow and deep and full of promises.”

 

“Guten Morgen, Liebling.” he tells Ororo afterward, “Freust du dich, mich zu sehen?”

 

Charles smiles at him with unashamed tenderness -and somehow the fact that he has bags under his eyes and a t-shirt covered in mashed carrots makes it all the more important- like he knows exactly what Erik just told Ororo. Truth be told, he’s probably guessed right, even without his power, but the smile still looks gorgeous on him, and Erik knows Charles hasn’t really understood what he said so it’s alright. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be understood, it’s just that they’ve agreed to keep those parts of unknown to each other, those secret gardens of sort. That’s why Charles doesn’t learn German, and Erik doesn’t learn French: to each his heritage to pass down.

 

 _Why don’t you speak Yiddish to her sometimes?_

 _Yiddish was my Mother’s language. When she learns Yiddish, I want her to learn about my Mother, too. It’s too soon._

 

Charles nods, respecting Erik’s love for his Mother despite the old sprinkle of want at that bond he never had a chance to know. Erik supposes it is something that can’t be helped, that old spike of envy that isn’t really jealousy anymore. It’s just part of who they are, longing for things they were forced to gaze from afar without touching it, or at least not when it mattered.

 

At least now they have each other.

 

 

Erik finally steps in the main room of what used to be Charles and Raven’s home.

Raven has gone away for university, one year late because she failed her final year of High School, but now she’s there, and Hank dutifully spends two weekend a month with her. Azazel goes to see her, too, not as regularly but more often, sometimes porting just long enough to startle her into throwing a pillow at his face, sometimes staying well into the night, and even ‘till morning. If Hank has a problem with it, he doesn’t say so, and Charles hasn’t mentioned anything either, so Erik doesn’t pry.

Anyways, the point is, now, the old Hunting Pavilion is all Charles’, old wall and columns and furniture. Raven’s room was turned into a nursery when she first came back –Charles was reluctant to shut his little sister-slash-first-born-daughter out of the house, but Raven convinced Moira to help her and together they lured him away for long enough to transform the pale pinks of Raven’s room into a vivid savannah, complete with a leaping lion and an elephant-shaped child’s armchair- so that it is now Ororo’s room, and Raven sleeps on the couch when she comes back, just like any other guest.

She says it was bound to happen someday, and Charles fully agrees with that, but he never can help a hint of sadness when he does so.

 

 

It is familiar now, Erik realizes, to step to the table, lay the takeout down and let Ororo crawl to his arms with a giggle, touching her forehead to his cheek in her version of a kiss before she rubs her nose on his leather jacket, as is her way of demonstrating fatigue, and he sits down on the couch to wipe her face clean.

Charles cleans up the last remnants of yoghurt off his scruffy cheeks but doesn’t bother trying to clean his tee –it’s the ‘Put It Up There’ Raven gifted him with last Christmas, and Erik knows he wants it destroyed as soon as naturally possible- before he comes to sit next to his boyfriend and daughter. He rests his head on Erik’s shoulder, nuzzling in the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply as Ororo tries to grab his hair, and then heaves a deep, deep sigh.

 

 _It’s good to be home._

 _You’ve been back for nearly nine days, now._

 

Charles smiles but doesn’t answer, draping an arm around Erik’s waist as his breathing evens out. Erik looks down and sees Ororo mostly asleep on his chest, and he settles back in the couch, preparing himself to a long nap and a sore neck at the end of it, when Charles stirs from his daughter’s mind and remembers he wasn’t the one feeling sleepy in the first place. Then, he takes the baby from Erik’s mind and goes to put her in her crib.

Erik follows suit in silence and, as he stands next to the small bed with the man he loves propped up against him, arms around his waist and fingers tangled with his own, he thinks this is every bit the cliché he always thought absolutely ridiculous and irrelevant, and he really, really doesn’t mind it. at the back of his mind, he can even begin to admit he kind of likes it.

Then Charles breaks the tableau by kissing his neck and moving upward, and soon their tongues are dancing against another, a bit like the dance of swords when Charles makes Raven practice her fencing –

 

 _You’re thinking of Raven? Now? Honestly, Erik, you could –_

 

But Charles doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Erik is sliding a hand up his ribs and pressing their tights together and there’s both too much pressure and not enough of it, so that Charles has to tear them out of the nursery to go somewhere less inappropriate. Erik barely remembers to close the bedroom door when they come out, but he’s got every excuse because Charles has channeled them both and you can never, _never_ get used to sensory loop: no matter how many time Charles does it, Erik still feels amazed that he can know exactly what he does to him, knows exactly how much Charles likes it when he kisses his way down Erik’s chest to tease at his nipples with his tongue, drinking in every twitch and shudders of Erik’s body as he relinquishes control and fully _trusts_ him with _everything_ he is –and it’s a relief for them both, really, for Erik to trust when he never had any reason to, and then for Charles to be fully trusted when even Moira has had her moments of doubts, it’s almost –

 

 _For God’s sake Erik_ stop thinking _!_

 _Make me._

 

And okay, Erik likes a challenge as much as the next guy, but you’re sorely mistaken if you think Charles is any better because from these words on, it feels as though there’s dozens of hands on Erik’s skin, caressing every inch of his body while what feels as several mouths kiss and bite him just about everywhere and then Charles’ actual mouth is just _there_ and licking and sucking just the way Erik likes it and it’s a matter of minutes before he comes white and hot and _love, love, love_ always there like a mantra in the back of his head, though he’s never completely sure if it’s Charles mind or his own.

 

Erik allows himself to go limp on the couch, which will need to be cleaned – _again_ , Charles whispers in his mind- and embraces Charles, pulling him close to his chest so that he can kiss the top of his head and inhales his sex-soaked hair.

 

 _Move in with me?_

There is a dreadful instant of silence as Erik’s stupid old habits of no commitment try to make him run away in fear, but he reins it in firmly and kisses Charles, trying to put everything he wants but doesn’t know how to say in that kiss.

 

 

Charles must understand that, because he kisses back in kind, warm and loving and _it’s okay, I’m afraid too_ , and to Erik, it already feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that my German is shaky when at its very best, so if you see anything wrong with it, feel free to correct me!
> 
> EDIT: Thanks Ikchen for fixing my vocabulary =)


End file.
